Tag Archives: moon

selections from Of Walking in Ice by Werner Herzog

Our Eisner mustn’t die, she will not die, I won’t permit it. She is not dying now because she isn’t dying. Not now, no, she is not allowed to. My steps are firm. And now the earth trembles. When I move, a buffalo moves. When I rest, a mountain reposes. She wouldn’t dare! She mustn’t. She won’t. When I’m in Paris she will be alive. She must not die. Later, perhaps, when we allow it. Continue reading

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1137

The duties of the Sea are few—
To boil and to freeze—
To inhale all the Earth provides—
Exhale life on the breeze.

The pleasures of the Sea are broad
To wash and splash about—
A Waltz that pushes and attracts
The waxing, waning Moon.

The kinsmen of the Sea are Keys—
Harmonious—Rhythmic—
Dissonant—Endless—
Sung simply through the Epochs.

The limitations of the Sea—
If you ask the nearest crone—
Or professor—or pelican—
Will forever be Unknown. Continue reading

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selections from The Pearl by John Steinbeck

“Because the story has been told so often, it has taken root in every man’s mind. And, as with all retold tales that are in people’s hearts, there are only good and bad things and black and white things and good and evil things and no in-between anywhere.” (0) Continue reading

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Emily Dickinson favorites (701-1100)

To Whom the Mornings stand for Nights,
What must the Midnights – be! Continue reading

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now

when rivers carve canyons deep and pour out from the valleys.
when mountaintops touch the sky, the clouds their rightful crown.
when those same clouds crash and boom, and cover all in darkness.
when through the air rain tumbles down, down, down, down.

when teeth tear bone and flesh, and taste a little life.
when trees stretch wide their woody arms in spite of sharpened axes.
when the wind slaps fast, sharp, invisible and mighty.
when the moon throws the ocean round as it waxes, wanes, waxes.

when the sun arises, sails, and sets its blinding, blazing glow.
when the the stars pierce your midnight dreams, well…
that’s when you’ll know. Continue reading

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lines written on a capital from the Temple of Artemis at Sardis

i lay atop the capital, body on slab of stone, a sacrificial animal to some deity unknown. she shone her light upon me, with neither smile nor reproach; shivers traveled down my spine with each syllable she spoke: “ever waxing, … Continue reading

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insomnia, therefore

there is an altar of sound in the Mojave Desert. it purrs painless, perfect—a midnight beacon beckoning.

attracted to its deep hum and bright lights, interplanetary pilgrims grapple their slow, shadowy way, seeking rhythm, love, divinity, nothing.

once they arrive, a juicy orange slice of moon rises to say hello, goodbye. antsy tongues wag in bags of mint, lapping up refreshingly ancient secrets. hips shake excitedly at their discovery, souls swing in arcing exultation.

in the morning, a half-naked hell of a hot mess stumbles thru center camp in a gazeless daze, meandering through people and sound and sand. half-shaved head to dusty little holes to rocky, glassy, torn-up toes, every cell in her body exuding madness. (love her.)

in the afternoon, a wavy pink pinstripe pussycat slinks from shade to shade hydrating himself with poetry. (praise him.)

at night, a brush with the grim reaper. (love her, praise him.)

day by day, the burning circle in the sky climbs higher, higher, higher, then dips down, down, down. hour by hour, a hundred billion white specks of plankton blindly drift the same mesmerizing path. minute to minute, morphing white specters glide, collide, unravel beneath the big blue canvas, unminded. moment to moment, men and women collectively recite their little disco mantra: 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4…

amid gunshots, fireworks, and constellations, confectionary gusts of earthy apes do their thing. Continue reading

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dipped my tongue in mint–
entwined in rope of light–
and promised to myself
i’d swing w the moon tonight. Continue reading

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Ἄρτεμις Ἀγροτέρα

i used to have recurring dreams about tidal waves; now i dream she doesn’t love me anymore. Continue reading

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my favorite Metamorphoses

And now the measure of my song is done:
The work has reached its end; the book is mine,
None shall unwrite these words: nor angry Jave,
Nor war, nor fire, nor flood,
Nor venomous time that eats our lives away.
Then let that morning come, as come it will,
When this disguise I carry shall be no more,
And all the treacherous years of life undone,
And yet my name shall rise to heavenly music,
The deathless music of the circling stars.
As long as Rome is the Eternal City
These lines shall echo from the lips of men,
As long as poetry speaks truth on earth,
That immortality is mine to wear. Continue reading

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